


Haikyuu!! Shorts

by ant3lux



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Domesticity, Explicit in some chapters, Fluff, LOTS OF DUMB BOYS, M/M, Matchmaking, death in some others, pwp in one chapter, terrible flirting, this is a compilation of all my hq stuff because they're too small to be on their own
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant3lux/pseuds/ant3lux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is the result of multi-shipping hell and I have no regrets</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reach (KageHina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angsty kagehina to start us off. I'll make it better with fluff in the next few i promise. death mentions ahead and hella upset kags sorry

He feels the crack of bone radiate up his spine, and Hinata screaming is a sensation, more than a sound.

It takes him a moment to register the fact that Hinata is still, silent, and that the shrill cry of absolute anguish is from his own mouth.

All he can think is _the toss was too high, this is my fault why did he go for it **this is my fault I did this to him it was me**_

Hinata isn’t moving and Kageyama can’t process his own thoughts, the mess that they are of anger and self-hatred and desperation and utter _helplessness_ and

_what happened to him why isn’t he moving is he breathing someone find out what happened someone please I can’t I can’t move I can’t get to him what’s happening_

The world fades to dark and tilts dramatically and his last vision is the crumpled body of sunshine incarnate and _this is my fault_

Kageyama wakes up screaming.

He’s alone in his bed and it’s a sea of white around him that makes his heart race as he searches, grips the sheets with a desperation that is palpable as he _reaches_ where **is he**

He’s alone.

Of course he’s alone, it’s been _years_ , he **knows** Shouyou is gone why is he still looking

His heart is in his throat as the details of the dream flood his mind and he relives the snap of bone ringing through him and he remembers what happened that day _again why this again I don’t want this_

It was a few days after Hinata’s accident in the gym that Kageyama was able to see him again, leg in a tight cast and his skin wrongly pale against the white sheets of the hospital bed. Of course Hinata’s only concern is if he’ll be cleared to play again ( _if why if of course you’ll play I need you_ ) and Kageyama is the one crying softly at the foot of his bed, shaking hands gripping the rail there.

Hinata had clicked his tongue and reached _stop reaching you’re going to hurt yourself again don’t try to get what you can’t don’t fall **don’t break**_

Kageyama collapsed next to the bed, fell to his knees and clung to Hinata’s hand and he outright sobbed, pressed his forehead to Hinata’s knuckles and begged for his forgiveness.

Hinata had looked at him like he was insane, telling him, “Stupid Kageyama, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

Kageyama chokes, back in the present, remembering how _soft_ Shouyou’s voice was as he murmured reassurances, like he was the one worried and Kageyama the one broken.

Hinata had never played volleyball again and Kageyama had quit shortly after. Karasuno was devastated and the team begged a dead-eyed Kageyama to stay, promised him _you’ll find someone to toss to like Hinata_ and he’d said _no, there’s no one like him and there never will be_ and he’d never looked back.

He followed Hinata for years, kept with him even through college and all the way to one of their favorite parks, where Hinata got down on a knee ( _be careful don’t shift the brace_ ) and became even smaller ( _fragile_ ), somehow, and asked Kageyama to marry him with love in his eyes and sunshine in his smile.

From then it was a dance–instead of Kageyama being Hinata’s shadow, trailing behind him and always reaching to catch him.

He’d reached for him the night Hinata died, too, and Hinata was reaching back but it wasn’t enough ( _stop reaching you’re going to hurt yourself again_ ) and Hinata was ripped from him so jarringly that he _felt_ his heart shatter and rip to nothing.

He had screamed then, too, but his voice was less a scream and more of crippled wail, a plaintive noise that professed his complete loss of direction, the abrupt obscuration of sunshine amidst the breaking of glass.

Kageyama buries his head in his hands and sobs, his breath catching in ways that hurt his lungs and made his shoulders tremble under the weight of grief.

He’ll never get used to waking up alone, never get used to expecting those bright eyes and that beautiful smile only to be choked by reality as soon as he wakes.

 _I’m sorry_ they’d said at the funeral, like his world hadn’t come crashing down. _You’ll find someone to love you like Hinata_ and he had shouted, with the desperation of a man sentenced to a fate worse than death that _**no, there’s no one like him and there never will be**_

The tears streaming down his cheeks then had darkened the speech he’d written to read for his poor, beautiful sunshine boy at the burial but it didn’t matter. His throat had closed on the words and he’d torn the speech in half right there, sank to his knees and stared at the coffin poised to vanish into the earth with dead eyes; a gaze that spoke of longing and anguish and apathy for anything but _this_.

Kageyama looks out the window at the sunny sky above him and he _aches, so desperately._

 _“i can’t do this today i can’t not today_  
_i’m sorry shouyou but i can’t get up today_  
_not even for you_  
_it’s been too long and too hard and i just want to sleep”_

Five years since Hinata Shouyou’s light had died from the world and Kageyama Tobio still hadn’t learned to handle life without him.


	2. Domestic (KageHina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> domestic morning routine kagehins please forgive me for the angst

Hinata wakes up, as usual, to Kageyama's foot pressed squarely into the small of his back. He groans even before he opens his eyes, shifts a hand up to grip his pillow, and sits up to slam it down on Kageyama in a fluid movement.

Kageyama keeps snoring, and Hinata isn't really sure why he keeps trying after several months of attempts to wake him with a pillow to the face.

Even so, Hinata leaves it on him (as usual) as he slides out of their bed and heads for the bathroom.

He knows about five minutes later, when the warm imprint his body had left in the bed next to Kageyama had faded fully, the bathroom door will crack open and a groggy Kageyama will slip into the shower behind him, murmur a good morning against his shoulder just before a yawn and slump his entire weight on Hinata's back.

Kageyama always wakes up considerably when Hinata sprays him in the face with the shower head, and he's even stopped complaining about it. Hinata counts that as a win.

Hinata finishes before Kageyama in the shower and steps out to let the other wash his hair. Hinata dries off with a set of vague motions of the towel that leave him notably damp, then ties the towel around his waist and drips his way out to the kitchen to make coffee for the pair of them.

A few minutes later, a fully dressed Kageyama picks his mug up from the place it waits on the table, bends to kiss Hinata and enjoy the short moment of a mutual disgust at morning breath, then skirts the perimeter of the kitchen to go to the apartment door and pick up the paper.

Hinata, by then, has vanished into the bedroom with his coffee to get dressed, unwilling to leave the strong punch of caffeine out of reach until he's woken up fully.

Kageyama takes the seat across from Hinata's newly vacated one and settles in quietly to read, cherishing the soft morning light and the quiet of the apartment before Hinata's energy sparks up and causes a ruckus.

Half an hour later and they're talking over breakfast, eggs that Hinata makes while wearing an apron given to him by his mother and carefully cooked bacon from Kageyama (Hinata couldn't be trusted with hot, greasy foods); it had taken about two weeks for them to perfect the art of using the kitchen at the same time.

Hinata cleans up the kitchen and starts work on the dishes knowing Kageyama would do the same at dinner that evening, while Kageyama prepares to leave for work. The taller of the pair comes up behind Hinata at the sink and hugs him tenderly--showing a soft side that would be uncharacteristic if it were to anyone but Hinata--kissing his cheek and murmuring his gratitude and love into his ear before he heads out the door.

Hinata always watches until the door closes behind Kageyama, then sets back to work on the dishes, knowing it would be another good day.


	3. Adoration (KageHina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the start of poetic kagehina hell

"Tobio," he murmurs, and his voice is a whisper like the breeze through summer leaves, and Kageyama's heart flutters like a songbird's wings.

"... Shouyou," he says quietly, a calloused thumb tracing Hinata's soft cheek as he holds him, watches those smiling, sunny eyes gaze up at him with adoration and love and trust. "Shouyou." His voice is stronger, confident, empowered by the way Hinata looks at him like every step he takes isn't filled with doubt and a fear of failure, like his shadow isn't lined with defeat and anxiety and irritation. Hinata's bright eyes and brighter smile calm the oceans of his irises, coax the gentleness from his lungs and let it caress his voice as he breathes out his lover's name.

Hinata laughs, then, and it's all Kageyama can do not to surge forward and capture the noise with his lips, swallow it into himself for safekeeping and for reflecting on when those stormy cloud of self-hatred come rolling in on him. Hinata's laugh sounds like sunlight, like determination and it's so _pure_.

Kageyama listens to it as if it's his favorite song.

He loves the way Hinata's fingers feel between his own, sealing the cracks of uncertainty in his hands with an overwhelming, blinding confidence.

He loves Hinata's laugh and the way it makes him feel powerful, like he can do anything.

He loves Hinata's voice, his excitement and how they can communicate even without words that make sense to other people.

He loves Hinata.

He loves Hinata.


	4. Poetry (KageHina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continued poetic kghn

Kageyama never liked poetry.

But there's a genius to the way freckles sprawl over Hinata's back, the way his red hair falls over his face and the way his eyes light up.

The way his lips feel is something indescribable by normal means, comparable only to sickeningly sweet metaphors about love and lightning and energy.

If he had the words to describe the warmth Hinata's smile made him feel he would appreciate poetry a lot more, appreciate the genius of the sunshine boy in his life that could be painted with adjectives and figurative language that would line his features, form his expressions, cling to him.

Kageyama never liked poetry but he loved Hinata, loved the way that everything he made him feel was just out of reach of being described with normal, literal phrases and he loved that he had to delve into explaining that Hinata's laughter was a burst like fireworks and lit his heart aflame.

Kageyama never liked poetry, but Hinata was poetic in existence and he loved _him_ , endlessly.


	5. Freckles (KageHina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one last poetic kagehina hurrah

Freckles climb up his lithe arms like cinnamon constellations, fade out over the back of his hand into sparse speckles, and a lost and lonely star in expanse of blank space draws attention to itself just beyond the rise of a knuckle.

Kageyama kisses it with a quiet reverence, enjoys the way he can feel Hinata's fingers twitch in his grasp. His lips graze the cluttered congregations of sun-sprinkled sand on Hinata's otherwise pale skin, and he follows the strength of his arm up to the yielding joint of his elbow, where he presses another soft kiss to the concave. He can feel Hinata's pulse beat through the thin blue river of a vein shooting beneath his skin, the steady and soft thump against his lips more noticeable than the minute smile on Kageyama's face.

The expression doesn't prompt a shift in anything but his mouth, the corners turning up in a degree so shallow it's almost impossible to notice. Hinata, with his sunshine golden eyes and sharp focus, notices anyway.

But he'd never mention it, draw attention to the tiny blessing and cause it to vanish. He just simply basks, learns the difference between Kageyama's smile against his skin and just a straight face.

He'll smile too, in the soft way that's more like a gradual sunrise than a beam parting clouds. His fingertips slide into Kageyama's hair, run through those raven locks and smooth them out, then gather them in his grasp and tug them with all the force of a soft breeze. Kageyama's eyes flutter fully closed.

Part of Hinata mourns the loss of those deep blue eyes, misses the view of the blue oceans that reflect his own sunshine. But he knows those eyes closing means that Kageyama is relaxed, comfortable with Hinata, with fingers in his hair and wrapped in his grasp as his lips press to the delicate interior of Hinata's arm.

He imprints emotion with those kisses, wordless promises of love and companionship that he knows Hinata understands, even if they don't speak those promises out loud.


	6. Trust (IwaOi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into iwaoi we go

Oikawa knew what it felt like to fall apart. To feel his seams tearing and watch his substance pour out through the cracks, to whisper goodbye to himself as he breaks into pieces.

But the way Iwaizumi takes him apart is different. It's purposeful and careful and slow and he's treated with care and affection. Oikawa knows Iwaizumi loves him despite the insults and the volleyball attacks.

Iwaizumi coaxes him into unraveling with his lips, with his tongue, with soft kisses against his skin and whispers against his throat, his chest, his ear, his lips--his soul.

Iwaizumi breathes promises into his mouth and lets Oikawa swallow them, knows that he's expected to keep them and he always does.

Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi to take him apart and cherish the core of him, put him back together with gentle sighs and firm arms around him and happy smiles buried against his shoulder.

Iwaizumi trusts Oikawa to trust in him, to understand that he's there, he's capable of handling everything that Oikawa was, is, and will be.

They trust each other until there's nothing left to doubt, until one is a trembling heap of broken pieces and the other is patiently repairing them with soft reassurances.

Iwaizumi knows how much Oikawa needs him, how his insecurities are threaded deeply into his skin like his veins and they both know that Iwaizumi's voice and Iwaizumi's words are what rush through them and keep them from strangling him.

Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi needs him too, even if it's not so desperately.


	7. Genius (IwaOi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry I forgot I had angsty iwaoi

Every serve, every toss, every receive, even every rare spike.

_Not a genius. Not a genius. Not a genius._

He worked hard, worked until his mouth tasted copper like blood and his limbs ached and Iwa-chan was telling him to rest, concern laced in the sharp words he heard so often.

_Kageyama could surpass him. He’s already far more talented._

He swore when he failed, cried when it hurt too much, buried his face against Iwa-chan’s strong shoulders and shook quietly, feeling like he was nothing.

_Oikawa Tooru is not a genius._

He knew other teams talked about him like an oncoming storm, fear and awe in their voices, but he was still nothing compared to the way they cowered before little Tobio, the way they watched little genius Tobio and Shrimpy-chan perform that lightning strike that caught everyone’s attention. They didn’t see him, didn’t hear the rumbling thunder of his abilities.

_He’s amazing, but he’s no genius._

He knew Iwa-chan watched him with supposed disdain, but he also knew that he’d be caught if he fell, supported when he couldn’t stand, taken care of when his lungs were fighting just to supply him with oxygen. He knew Iwa-chan wouldn’t let his insecurities taint his playing. He knew Iwa-chan was half of his confidence, half of his ability, half of his strength. But--

_It’s really sad what happened to those Seijou players. One of them--Oikawa, was it? Yeah, I heard his ace had an accident and can’t play anymore, and that guy totally lost it. Quit the team, I think. Seijou won’t be as strong without those two._

" _Hajime_!!”


	8. Heat (OiKuro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT this is my magnum opus (just kidding I don't want to be known for this) literally just oikuro porn

Oikawa is _alive_ when Kuroo’s fingers wind into his hair and yank, ruthless, a snarl on the curve of his lips and his teeth promising torture and pleasure before they even touch Oikawa’s skin. Kuroo presses into him with dominance and fury and heat and Oikawa pushes back, pushes Kuroo’s boundaries and waits for the growl or the hiss as Kuroo fights him.

He loves this, relishes in the hickeys and the bitemarks and the angry red lines on his back from Kuroo’s hot frustration and fire, imprinted on him in already fading physical marks. He loves the charge Kuroo takes, inhales smoke and sparks from Kuroo’s inferno as he’s pressed into the mattress, meeting every crash of their lips with a soft noise that he knows urges Kuroo on harder, faster, _more_.

There are slow mornings where sunshine pours across the contour of Kuroo’s muscled back as he’s gentle, covers Oikawa’s body and his mouth with his own to earn sincere ecstasy in the forms of quiet breaths and twitching fingertips. 

But this is not a slow morning; this is late evening and Kuroo is _wound_ , coiled to lash out and sink his teeth into something, anything, gouge his frustrations into yielding surfaces like the smooth planes of Oikawa’s back and shoulders.

Kuroo had dropped his bag with a feral snarl, catching Oikawa’s attention immediately. Seconds later they’d made contact, Oikawa gripping Kuroo’s suspenders and Kuroo’s fingers already yanking up Oikawa’s oversized tee shirt in an attempt to remove barriers between him and the absolute blessing of forgetting how to think.

Oikawa had yielded as he always did, knowing he could trust Kuroo to stop if things became dangerous in the way that didn’t make his heart double-time in his chest.

Oikawa relinquishes his shirt quickly, not bothering to tease Kuroo with how slowly he could remove it, and Kuroo is back on him in seconds, one hand threading into brown locks and securing its grip before he tugs Oikawa’s head back, descends on his neck in the span of a skipped heartbeat, finding a pulse with his lips and sucking hard. His other hand is trailing blindly down Oikawa’s chest and Kuroo is relieved--completely and utterly--that Oikawa had forgone pants for the night and he could clumsily work off his boxers, one less layer of fabric between him and losing himself.

Oikawa’s eyelids had fluttered shut and he grips at Kuroo like a lifeline, clings to the elastic of his suspenders to keep from crumbling under the expert attention of his lips and the occasional scrape of teeth against his throat. Kuroo pulls back after a few more moments, leaving the skin of Oikawa’s neck red and raw and bruising, and watches expectantly as Oikawa’s trembling fingers struggle with the buttons of his dress shirt, ease off the suspenders and start on his belt.

Kuroo rests his hands on Oikawa’s waist and watches with a feigned patience like his blood isn’t boiling and he isn’t seconds away from shredding his own clothing just to get it _off_. “I’m going to fucking _wreck you_ ,” he hisses mindlessly, and revels in the way Oikawa’s hands jerk, even if he’s not verbal. Kuroo smirks. “I’m going to tear you apart and I’m going to _finally_ hear that fucking mental stream you tell me about so often. I want it, and I’m gonna get it,” he murmurs, voice low in that scratchy and desperate way he knows makes Oikawa’s knees weaken.

Kuroo disconnects Oikawa’s hands from his pants and nudges him towards their shared bed, taking it upon himself to hurry out of the rest of his clothing in haste to join Oikawa, who was now waiting for him with lust in his expression and fire in his eyes.

It’s with another animalistic sort of smile that Kuroo meets him at the edge of the bed, doesn’t hesitate to straddle his lap and balance on his knees as he kisses him hard. Oikawa’s long fingers find his thighs and venture upward, trace the taut muscle of his legs to his hips and dig in there.

Kuroo’s eyes blink open and he focuses on Oikawa’s face as he breaks the kiss, though his expression quickly falls back to seductive as his eyes hood and a smirk etches its way crookedly over his lips. Oikawa meets his gaze with a determination that makes Kuroo chuckle in a soft way, all velvet threats and dominance.

“What good are you going to do up there?” Oikawa asks him, using that infuriating tone of voice that makes a prickle of anger crawl up Kuroo’s spine. Kuroo slides his hands up to cradle Oikawa’s face in his grasp, then presses one hand over his mouth and leans in so their foreheads are almost touching.

“I’m going to ruin you, Tooru,” Kuroo tells him, stating his intentions as if he were telling about the color of the sheets currently being bunched in one of Oikawa’s hands. Oikawa’s eyes close in a rare burst of vulnerability and his breath catches, passing warm and halting through his nose and Kuroo shifts above him. “I’m going to pick your seams apart and watch you bleed into nothing and you are going to _thank me while I do it_ ,” he whispers, feelings the slight shift that was Oikawa nodding, instinctive.

Kuroo laughs again, dark and heavy and dangerous as he shifts to press their hips together, moving his hand from over Oikawa’s mouth to grip his shoulder. “I want to hear you,” he tells him, rocking his body against Oikawa in a slow motion that makes the drag of their skin together agonizing. Oikawa wants to scream; his lips part to let out a soft puff of breath.

The dark look in Kuroo’s eyes is almost furious, an expression of deprivation that Oikawa barely catches when he half-opens his eyes, a triumphant smile trickling slowly across his face. Kuroo’s fingers spasm in their grip on Oikawa’s shoulder and they both know he’s itching to knock it right off his face. “Is that how you’re playing today, Tooru?” he asks, jarringly gentle as his thumb strokes the hard angle of Oikawa’s jawline.

Oikawa’s eyes widen, anticipation crowding into the fire in his eyes that mirrors Kuroo’s own. “... Yeah, guess it is,” he murmurs, and promptly chokes on a moan as Kuroo roughly presses his hips into Oikawa’s.

“Be prepared, then,” Kuroo growls, still cocky, still riding high on the flames of a smoldering anger that had pressed him to this--not that either of them were complaining; Oikawa loved this, loved how Kuroo could make him fall to pieces in seconds and have him begging to be torn apart--and Oikawa just smiles, thoughts swimming in a confused swirl of lust and desperation.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles, listens to the way Kuroo’s breath catches with a smug satisfaction only to gasp against his lips as Kuroo kisses him hard, barely pausing before sinking his teeth into the soft pink of Oikawa’s lower lip. Oikawa’s hips jolt upward, startling the both of them, and Kuroo takes advantage of the reaction; toys with Oikawa’s lip between his teeth, captures it and tugs and bites and draws his tongue over it to soothe it just before he’s biting down again. Oikawa whines pitifully, trembling under the acute attention and Kuroo has mercy, lets him go in favor of watching his face as he moves against him again.

“What are you thinking? I want to hear it, every word,” Kuroo murmurs, regretfully giving up the view of Oikawa’s face to whisper provocation in his ear.

“Touch me, fuck, please, Kuroo touch me I need it I need--touch me, touch me, Kuroo, _Tetsurou--please!_ ” Oikawa’s words come faster than his escalated heartbeat and his ragged breathing makes them almost unintelligible, but there’s no missing the undisguised desperation as his fingers clutch blindly for Kuroo, fingernails grazing the center of his spine and Kuroo arches and hisses in surprise, hung up on Oikawa’s heated words.

He complies with little hesitation, snaking a hand down between them to wrap it around Oikawa’s length; he shifts back to allow space, give himself a perfect vantage point to watch Oikawa come undone in his fingertips, his careful grip.

Oikawa moans his name in a throaty tone that makes Kuroo shiver, and he hears the gratitude in the drawn-out syllables that pass between the lips he’d bruised with his own. Kuroo just smiles, watches Oikawa’s face as he adjusts his hand and slowly starts its movement.

Oikawa trembles, head tipping back almost immediately and Kuroo stops, waits for Oikawa to react with indignation and pick his head up to glare at Kuroo. “I want to see your face. Don’t you dare hide that from me,” Kuroo says, and the fight fades from Oikawa’s expression as he nods, the picture of quiet obedience and subordination. “Good.” The praise falls easy from Kuroo’s lips but it's still enough to make Oikawa twitch.

Kuroo starts the movement of his hand again, adds gentle twists of his wrist to make his fingers pass over the delicate ridge of the head at just the right angle, knows that it’ll make Oikawa squirm and whisper pleas for _more, Tetsurou, faster_ and press his nails into whatever part of Kuroo he can grab onto in order to anchor himself.

The increase in speed is something gradual, the unpredictable fire from earlier slowly fading to equal with his determination to have Oikawa wrecked and pleading for him, and that simple factor of control makes it _so easy_ for him to do so.

It’s soon enough that Oikawa is braced back on his elbows, neck still straining to keep his head up so Kuroo wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t scold him for dropping his expressions out of sight, and his hips are rolling with the movement of Kuroo’s hand in a maneuver so perfectly timed it’s art.

Kuroo murmurs to him, whispers quiet praise and encouragement that make Oikawa shake under his ministrations and whine, make the practiced and smooth motion of his hips stutter into something like syncopation and it’s _almost_ enough, almost good enough, and he begs incoherently until Kuroo eases him back into rhythm to continue marching him to his edge.

Kuroo’s done this enough to be able to recognize the way Oikawa starts tensing up, the way his noises become choked and breathless and his body twitches in ways that are just slightly different from when he’s slowly sinking into the tide that is arousal. “Come on, Tooru. Come for me,” he whispers, and his quiet voice is just enough to ease Oikawa to that peak, to the climax that makes his back snap into a hard upward arc, his final noise of pleasure coming out as a halting wail and there’s a pride to the very motion of Kuroo sitting back, releasing him with a smug smile as he watches Oikawa tries to catch his breath and recover his conscious thoughts.

It takes just under four minutes for Oikawa to be able to compose himself enough to slide off the bed, kneel down on the floor and look up at Kuroo through his long lashes and _smile_ in that way that makes heat pool somewhere deep in him.

Oikawa waits to even open his mouth until Kuroo has a hand firmly tangled in his hair and even then he stays still, smiling innocently until Kuroo gives a gruff noise and tugs, impatient.

Despite his impatience, however, Kuroo will always cite Oikawa’s mouth as the best to ever bring him to orgasm, with precise flicks of the tongue and the steady threat of teeth that Oikawa is sure to flash often--and the fear and adrenaline provoked by that simple act make Kuroo’s heart race and he’s not sure he’d ask Oikawa to stop doing it--Kuroo will always voice his satisfaction in a way mostly uncharacteristic, with a loud cry of Oikawa’s name, and the usual tight grip of his hands on Oikawa’s hair.

By the time they’re finished they’re exhausted and breathless, fire and fury long since extinguished as Kuroo helps haul Oikawa back onto the mattress and curls around him, holds him tightly and buries his face against the sturdy shoulders he’d made quiver just minutes earlier.

Oikawa drapes an arm over Kuroo after pulling up the sheets and smiles, still trying to catch his breath, because he can feel Kuroo’s heartbeat thumping in the off-beats of his own, and that’s a comforting fact he likes to fall asleep to.


	9. Feline (KenHina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one took me so long to write I don't know how to handle kenma at all

Hinata likes to wrap himself around Kenma in ways that were certainly contortionism and almost as certainly uncomfortable. But he never complains, so Kenma isn’t actually sure if they are as uncomfortable as they appear.

Today’s astoundingly intricate pose involves Hinata’s feet up over the back of the couch and his body half-twisted to plant himself in Kenma’s lap, chin tucked against his chest, and his knee keeps bumping into the side of Kenma’s head (at which point Hinata apologizes with a half-choked chuckle, prompting a squinting frown from Kenma).

“Wha’re you pl’ing?” Hinata manages, with the limited motion of his jaw being what it was, and Kenma stares at him a moment. Hinata catches his eyes and grins, a bright smile that never fails to prompt a tiny one from Kenma.

“Spirit Tracks,” Kenma answers, and Hinata’s eyes widen as he flips himself over, then scrambles up to sit next to Kenma with his chin on the other’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you like this one.”

“It’s the train one, right? Trains are cool,” Hinata tells him, though his true intentions are revealed as soon as he starts nuzzling against the side of Kenma’s neck.

Kenma rolls his eyes, but reaches up with one hand to blindly comb his fingers through Hinata’s hair, who closes his eyes and leans into his touch. “You’re more like a cat than anyone from Nekoma, Shouyou,” Kenma tells him, and Hinata huffs against his shoulder.

“Just because it’s true, it doesn’t mean you have to keep telling me that,” Hinata says, leaning on Kenma when the blonde sets back to work on his game. Hinata manages to wiggle his way in so that his head is on Kenma’s lap a few minutes later.

Kenma finally gives up, turns off the DS and sets it aside, reaching out for Hinata wordlessly.

Hinata beams, climbing carefully into Kenma’s lap and curling up against him, pressing his face against Kenma’s shoulder.

“Cat,” Kenma murmurs, leaning their heads together.

“Shut up and cuddle me,” Hinata grumbles against him, and Kenma’s shoulders twitch in a soft laugh as he pulls his legs up to better curl around the redhead.

“Why do you always end up in my lap again?” Kenma asks him, and Hinata turns his head just enough to peek at him.

“Because you don’t start cuddling. Also you’re bigger than me by two whole _inches_. I’ll hold you when I grow two inches, but not until then.” Hinata sticks his tongue out by way of punctuation.

Kenma shoves him unceremoniously off his lap, Hinata laughing from his newfound position on the floor.


	10. Culture (AsaNoya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is part of a bigger AU I may or may not ever write tbh

Noya is staring up at the unfinished peaks of his spray-painted letters with disdain. “Damn,” he murmurs, standing with his hands on his hips and the bag of cans at his feet. “I’ll have to–”

“H-hey, freeze!” calls a shaky, deep voice, and the conflicting qualities make Noya squint in confusion and turn around. “I said fr-freeze…” objects the cop, as Noya now realizes, pointing a flashlight as menacingly as he could in Noya’s direction.

Noya stares at him, then shrugs and moves to lift his hands, only to turn and bolt at the last second, darting towards the mouth of an alley. He runs only a few feet before he realizes his own shoes are the only scrape on pavement he’s hearing and he skids, turns to look over his shoulder with a slight pout. The chase is the best part of getting caught, and this guy is totally screwing it up for him. Noya bounces back toward the man, who’s fumbling with the radio clipped at his shoulder.

“Come on, why won’t it–” the cop murmurs, looking increasingly frustrated.

“Hey. Are you new?” Noya asks, trotting back over to him without a care in the world.

The cop jumps, reaches toward where his baton would be on his belt, only to pat anxiously at the empty spot and swear softly.

Noya snorts, crouching down in front of his duffel bag and repacking his paint cans. “Well, you officially are the worst cop ever, sorry. But at least I get to salvage my paint this time,” he says, almost conversationally. He glances back up at the man, who looks like a large kicked puppy. Noya glances over his shoulder at his piece, then squints at the cop, sizing him up mentally. “… You wanna do me a favor?”

That gets the cop’s attention, as the man had been staring at the ground with tight fists, and the question is enough to make him pause, confused. “Um. Not really?”

“Great, you’re the best,” Noya continues, ignoring the reality of his answer and standing up with a few cans in his hands. “Can you lift me up so I can finish?” he asks, pointing with the black to the tops of the letters he wasn’t able to reach.

“Why wouldn’t you just bring a ladder?” the cop asks, incredulous, as he looks over the graffiti.

“Forgot. Also they’re heavy and obnoxious. Okay, look, if you lift me up and let me finish, I’ll go easy, let you take me back to the station without the chase part. Even though that’s my favorite. That’s a big deal I’m giving you.”

“I’ve gotta take you in–”

“Yeah, and I’m saying you can. No one will know if you help me out a little. Come on, feel bad for the fact that you’re culturally cockblocking me,” Noya implores him, all bright smiles.

“This is not culture,” the man grumbles, but he’s already stepping forward, acquiescing enough to make Noya bounce in place.

“Sure it is! Graffiti is trashy white boy culture. Cultural as fuck!!”


	11. Flirt (UshiKuro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NO EXCUSE  
> I think im the only one ever to be interested in this fucking ship please enjoy this tiny experiment

"Wow, with that muscle set, I sure hope you're not compensating for something," Kuroo purrs, in his normal, feline, suggestive tone that he uses when flirting. He leans against the bar next to the taller man and uses the angle, tilts his chin and _smiles_.

"Compensating?" echoes Kuroo's chosen prize for the night, glancing over at him with a raised brow and a set frown.

Some of the playfulness fades from Kuroo's expression, but he quickly shifts gears, determined to still win him over. "Sure. After all, an Adonis like you couldn't possibly be _completely_ perfect."

"I'm not," says the man flatly, drinking the rest of his cup's contents like it's water and making Kuroo's eyes widen in disconcertion. "I can be pretty forgetful."

Kuroo has about half a second to contemplate the seemingly random fact, one eye half-squinted, before the man stands up and starts to leave. Kuroo feels vaguely cheated, and abandons his glass to pursue him. He refuses to give up on a target so easily.


	12. Meddling (KuroKen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is my first attempt at writing Kuroo (granted very little of him) or kenma and I seriously hope I've improved past here

It's Hinata that notices before either of them, with his unbelievably astute observations--unbelievable for someone so dense when it came to himself.

Hinata notices the way Kuroo watches Kenma like he painted the stars in the sky.

Hinata notices the way Kenma will smile up at Kuroo with a shy warmth to his gaze, thumb shifting to pause his game as they talk.

Hinata notices the way they're always together, talking and tactile and happy.

And so when he asks Kenma, with his feet propped up in the setter's lap and Kenma's delicate wrists (holding his phone, of course) against his ankles, "How long have Kuroo and you been together?" with a painful nonchalance and lack of tact, he isn't expecting the sharp noise of Kenma's phone hitting the floor in front of the couch they're sitting on and the startled way Kenma is watching him.

"What do you mean, Shouyou?" Kenma asks, after careful consideration, golden eyes wide and phone left forgotten on the floor in front of them.

Hinata stares back, expression blanched to muted shock and surprise. "I mean. How long have you been dating?" he asks.

This time Kenma blushes, pats Hinata's legs in a silent request for them to be moved, and takes advantage of the silence to grab his phone. "We're not dating," he says, flatly.

Hinata blinks, then shrugs. "Oh, sorry. With the way you two act I figured you must be." He pulls his feet back, curling them under himself.

Kenma shakes his head, then squints at Hinata with a quiet, contemplative frown. "What do you mean by that?"

Hinata shrugs again, giving a hum and tapping his finger to his chin. "Well, Kuroo seems really happy and honest, with you at least, and you always pause your game to talk to him, and you let him play with your hair, and he carries you around a lot even though you can walk fine, and you're cute together!"

Kenma looks down at his lap and thinks on those things quietly for a few moments, holding his phone quietly and gazing at the black glass. Hinata gets up from the couch just as the screen lights up with a new message, citing his need to go to the bathroom or something similar that Kenma doesn't catch. He hums his acknowledgement, too focused on the message from Kuroo (moreso the things Hinata had told him) to really register it.

'shouyou says we need to talk about something??' it reads. Kenma smiles a bit wider at Kuroo's use of Hinata's given name, a habit the captain had picked up from Kenma. By the time Kenma actually understands what it means, his shoulders are twitching faintly with silent laughter, and he shakes his head at Hinata's antics, takes a deep breath, and fits both hands around his phone to respond.

'Yeah, we do. Could we talk about it over dinner?'

A few minutes later, across the house, he hears Hinata cheer belatedly, supposing (correctly) that Kuroo had relayed the information to the meddling redhead.

'sure. i'll grab takeout from that place you like and be at yours in an hour.'

Kenma will have to thank him if dinner goes well.


	13. Captains (Hinata)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holy shit it's not shippy  
> This was a tiny analysis I did on hinatas relations with the captains while in drivers ed so hey

Something about Hinata drew people in, sort of like they flocked to Suga. In Hinata, though, the 'something' was the spark of determination in his eyes and the pure fire and motivation he put toward achieving his goals that radiated off of him. He was bright and enticing, and he seemed to attract the attention of the captains more than anyone--perhaps it was that Hinata had started to demand attention with just his presence. He's gone from invisible to invincible in a short period of time, thanks to his fruitful partnership with Kageyama. 

Hinata had forced Oikawa to acknowledge him with a crack of lightning, and was rewarded with Oikawa's eager interest and compulsive desire to win directed at him.

Hinata had made himself known to Kuroo through Kenma; bright and loud to Kenma's quiet and calculated.

Hinata had bonded easily with Bokuto, their similar excitability making them compatible.

But with Ushijima, Hinata had explosively thrown himself into sights and awareness, captured his attention with a leap and angry words of challenge and furiously burning team pride.


	14. Confrontation (UshiKuro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ship is ruining my life I don't even WANT IT so of course I'm writing it. This short isn't shippy, moreso an exploration of their dynamic and a chance for me to try ushijima in his natural volleyboy habitat. Let me know what you think!

Kuroo bumps into Ushijima Wakatoshi on accident, though from the way Kuroo backs up, looks up, and smirks, he almost passes it off as purposeful.

"Ooh, the famous Ushijima," Kuroo purrs, with his usual tilted head and crooked smile.

"I don't do autographs," Ushijima says, with little preamble, inflection, or attention to Kuroo at all. He sounds as if he's been repeating the same phrase endlessly. Kuroo suspects he has.

"I wasn't going to ask for one. I heard your team had to fight pretty hard to represent Miyagi here at nationals."

Ushijima frowns at that, and Kuroo watches him replay the match in his head. The expression on his face... that wasn't anger, it was a muted sense of triumph. Kuroo focuses on it quietly. "Karasuno was the challenge I thought they would be, but ultimately I was right about them not being good enough to surpass Shiratorizawa."

"No? Karasuno is pretty strong, maybe it was pure luck that you won."

"No," Ushijima confirms, with a soft insistence on the word that sounds strange in his normally detached voice. "Shiratorizawa never weakens."

Kuroo fixes him with a calculated look. Ushijima is certainly not sociable, and Kuroo isn't exactly sure how to get under his skin when there are no neat seams to wiggle into. It's all smooth, hard stone, no imperfections or cracks or doubts, and Kuroo finds himself almost envious of Ushijima's composure, and curious about where it came from. 

"You thought Karasuno could beat you," Kuroo says aloud, watching Ushijima's focus zero in on him and his eyes narrow. "You felt that the match with them was actually worthy." Ushijima's upper lip twitches, and he looks away while Kuroo stretches into a slow grin. "You acknowledge their ability, then."

"There are... certain members of the Karasuno team that are stronger than the rest. Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio played well, truly, and the blonde middle-blocker was... he played impressively. The rest of the team wasn't worth my time."

"You had fun."

Ushijima flinches. He actually flinches, and Kuroo's eyes widen considerably. "... Why are you talking to me? Who are you?"

"You know who I am, Ushijima, don't even pretend," Kuroo snorts, choosing to drop the subject of the finals and file the information away for later. "And Nekoma will take you down. Don't doubt it." Kuroo pats him on the shoulder and turns to walk away, his gait more of a slink and his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Ushijima stares after him a moment, then shakes his head as one corner of his mouth curls up in a wry little smile. "Kuroo. Don't be so naive."


	15. Break (KageHina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yo alright this is literally pure angst (different style than the other kghn angst and my apologies to everyone here for the fact that im writing more angst) death in this chapter and subsequent reactions to it

It had taken a lot longer than any of them expected for Hinata to break down.

They’d all heard the shot, they had all seen the way Kageyama stumbled, pressed a hand to his rose-blossoming shirt, seen him fall.

Hinata screamed but didn’t even process, wasn’t sure of the consequences of what had happened.

It was such a heavy silence that settled then.

Hinata crumpled to his knees, so much smaller than he had ever seemed as he stared, reached out with trembling and disbelieving fingertips to touch his friend, his partner, his--

“K-Kageyama?” Hinata whispered, with a minuscule voice and an even smaller break in it. He laughed, giggled in a way that radiated unease and panic and made the onlookers bow their heads. “Come on, stupid. Open your eyes.” It was painful, the amount of thick hope and denial starting to choke his soft words.

“Hinata--” Daichi started, but his voice seemed to hit some invisible barrier and disintegrate.

Hinata, ever stronger than he appeared, ever resilient, ever bright, pulled Kageyama closer, tugged the slowly fading warmth of him into his lap and curled over him like he could trap that escaping body heat beneath a blood-stained shirt and his own trembling body. “Please open your eyes,” he whispered, with a patience and desperation that twisted together so elegantly and so sharp it cut new wounds on the freshly bleeding hearts of the team. None of them moved, or spoke, or breathed.

“You can’t,” Hinata told him, his fingers coated in thick red and leaving streaks on Kageyama’s cheek touched his face. They all knew what he meant. _Can’t leave. Can’t die. Can’t break my heart like this._ “Don’t go, Kageyama, please.” Hinata’s fingers were trembling, but it was nothing compared to the stuttering jump of his shoulders when his next inhale shook.

The way Hinata’s expression started to crumple was mirrored in the men around him, standing forlorn and soft in the face of a fading light, despite the way the sun burned in the skies above them.

Suga’s weight was a heavy one against Daichi’s side as he hid his face, turned away from the body of his lost surrogate and the collapsing ray of sunshine curled around him.

“Kageyama,” Hinata whispered, uselessly, as the pain in his eyes bubbled up and boiled over, traced the curves of his cheeks in searing trails. “Kageyama. _Tobio_.” The name sounded foreign on his tongue and it was so obvious that he’d never tasted it in his mouth before, especially when he flinched at the word in his own voice and choked back a broken noise.

Asahi’s hand curled around Noya’s, protectively, like he was feeling a paranoia about reliving this in the future but different, with another fragile heart breaking and a different personality leaking warmth into the staining pavement.

“Ka… Kageyama.” Hinata reverted back to Kageyama’s last name, reaffixed familiarity in his mouth as he shifted his grip, pretended his palms weren’t slick with blood that wasn’t his own and pulled Kageyama closer to him. The heavy weight of his head lolled against Hinata’s shoulder, and Hinata’s lower lip trembled.

Even Tsukishima had to close his eyes and shy from it when Hinata’s first mournful sob trickled from his lips in a building, broken noise.

“You can’t, you can’t, you _stupid_ \--I can’t--please, Kageyama.” Hinata wasn’t sure why he was still attempting to speak, squeezing words between gasping inhales and shuddering sobs.

Maybe it was because it was easier hearing the blunt simplicity of his pointless begging than to listen to the silence and the palpable complexity of emotion it held. It was better than listening to the spaces where Kageyama’s voice should be.

Hinata sucked in a trembling breath and let it out with a thin whine, finally let his voice die out amidst his halting and uneven breaths. Rocks bit into his knees as he tightened his grip on Kageyama, pulled him close until he could feel blood start seeping into his shirt and the sensation made his breath catch hard in his throat and sent him into a coughing fit. His hand clenched in Kageyama’s shirt, leaving bloody fingerprints behind and staining the blue fabric yet again.

Hinata had blood on his hands.

“You can’t just take bullets for me like that,” Hinata whispered, softly into the space between them that he wished was filled with Kageyama’s steady breathing like it always had been. “Stupid, stupid Kageyama.”


End file.
